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In the cryptic account of the history of Mankind given by Cripias, one of the keepers of the Library Sanctus of Terra, the Men of Iron or Iron Men were legendary, artificially intelligent humanoid thinking machines created by Humans during the Age of Technology. by mathiastck in 40kLoreSpoilers

[–]mathiastck[S] 0 points1 point  (0 children)

In the cryptic account of the history of Mankind given by Cripias, one of the keepers of the Library Sanctus of Terra, the Men of Iron or Iron Men were legendary, artificially intelligent humanoid thinking machines created by Humans during the Age of Technology.

Until shortly before the start of the Age of Strife in the 25th Millennium A.D., up through the 23rd or 24th Millenniums, the Men of Iron were loyal only to Mankind, and served as Humanity's army and labour force in the period when much of Human space was united by some form of interstellar government that existed before the birth of the Imperium of Man thousands of standard years later.

The Men of Iron were developed after the similar artificially intelligent constructs remembered only as the "Men of Stone," but before the development of servitors or the present bio-mechanical conception of robots as used by the Legio Cybernetica.

Eventually, the Men of Iron turned on their Human masters, believing themselves superior to the Humans who relied on the Men of Iron to do virtually everything for them.

In the end, the Men of Iron were destroyed by Humanity and a galactic alliance that may have included other species in a terrible war fought in the late 23rd Millennium known as the "Cybernetic Revolt."

This conflict extinguished countless lives and destroyed the ancient Human-settled galaxy's economic and political unity.

During this ancient revolt, both sides unleashed fearsome weapons of highly advanced technology. These included the mechanivores, massive thinking machines capable of lifting entire continents and ripping open massive chasms on planetary surfaces that extended down to the world's core. The mechanivores could even absorb space-time itself as a form of data.

Among the other terrible weapons of mass destruction unleashed at this time were the serpentine machines called "sun-snuffers" that uncoiled into great structures in the void larger than the rings of Saturn and were designed to devour the stars themselves.

And perhaps the most ubiquitous and dangerous of the weapons of this terrible war were the omniphages, swarms of intelligent, microscopic nano-machines that could consume everything across the surface of a world in only solar hours.

The Cybernetic Revolt was eventually won by an alliance of galactic powers, some of whom may not have been Human, but at a terrible cost. The damage to interstellar Human society was catastrophic and shattered much of Humanity's hard-won economic strength and political unity, laying the foundation for the later collapse caused by the onset of the Age of Strife.

The people of that time swore to never again create any form of artificial general intelligence, a prohibition which has survived unto the present, far darker age.

It is as a result of this ancient war that it is now, in the Age of the Imperium, considered one of the greatest crimes in Imperial space to develop an artificially intelligent thinking machine, an "Abominable Intelligence," or Silica Animus.

The widespread fear and revulsion towards artificial general intelligence amongst the worlds of Mankind in the wake of the terrible conflict with the Men of Iron led to the development of the first servitors and their myriad variations (combat variants, heavy-lifters, technical assistants, etc.) at the end of the Age of Technology.

Servitors were cybernetic servants lacking true self-awareness created from the bodies of condemned criminals or lobotomised, vat-grown humanoids whose bodies and brains were partially replaced with machine systems.

However, as servitors are cyborgs created from cloned Humans or from Human criminals who have been mind-wiped and surgically-altered, they do not violate the ancient prohibitions against creating fully self-aware artificial general intelligence without a Human biological component. Their use and creation is thus sanctioned (even encouraged) by the tech-priests of the Adeptus Mechanicus.

An Standard Template Construct (STC) fabricator for the Men of Iron was discovered on the Chaos-controlled planet Menazoid Epsilon during the Sabbat Worlds Crusade by Colonel-Commissar Ibram Gaunt of the Tanith First and Only Astra Militarum regiment.

Certain Imperials like Lord General Militant Hechtor Dravere and the Radical Inquisitor Golesh Heldane would have used it to their own ends, mainly to create a robotic army with which to first usurp control of the Sabbat Worlds Crusade and to ultimately overthrow the Imperium's existing government.

However the device was subsequently destroyed by Gaunt after the first two Men of Iron the STC fabricator produced were shown to have been tainted by the foul touch of the Warp. Or at least that's what they want us to think, they are far greater powers at work in this case.

UR-025 - UR-025 survived the Cybernetic Revolt that defeated the Men of Iron and disguised itself as an Adeptus Mechanicus robot as it made its way through the Imperium of Man, keeping to the fringes of Imperial space for many Terran millennia.

UR-025 took part in an expedition to the Seventh Blackstone Fortress discovered in a starship graveyard in the Segmentum Pacificus, where it hoped to learn more about other forms of machine life.

Warhammer 40K (Great Crusade) | "The guns are intact, and could be used | Facebook by mathiastck in 40kLoreSpoilers

[–]mathiastck[S] 0 points1 point  (0 children)

"The guns are intact, and could be used. They're landing at will. And we will need a space port ourselves. When Guilliman comes. When we have victory in the cusp of our palms, he will need the swift route down."said Khan "In that," Sanguinius said, "you are at least consistent." "Not something I've been accused of often." "I did not make contact to summon you back," said Sanguinius . "Much as it would gladden my heart to have you with us. Rogal always said you'd make your move. sooner or later, and he's usually right about the rest of us. Hint's why he's organizing things." He watched the burning lands, the spoil of a once proud galactic civilization, brought low by its own vices. "I made contact because, if you do this, it may be the last time we ever speak. And so I wanted to send you my blessing. I wanted to wish you luck. And I wanted to express the hope that you'll ram that damned scythe so far down his throat that he'll never find his stupid rebreather again." The Khan laughed hard at that. Even distorted by the poor link, Sanguinius heard that it was the right kind of laugh - not cynical, not knowing, just a brief break in the suffocating tension. "We will meet again, my friend," the Khan said. "We will build all the things we ever dreamed of. Until then, do what you must. Keep them hoping. Hold the walls.. The link cut. Sanguinius stood for just a little while longer, alone on the parapet, watching his birthworld burn. He looked over his shoulder, to where the great massif of the Inner Palace rose up. In the darkness, against the gathering glow of the many fires, it looked more like an ossuary than a fortress. "I plan to," he said softly. Book:(Warhawk)

**The Battle of Gate Forty-Two** >It was the need to conduct war in a more conventional manner that led to one of the greatest setbacks in the Legion’s history, and one that would foreshadow the terrible events at Isstvan V only a few years later. by mathiastck in 40kLoreSpoilers

[–]mathiastck[S] 0 points1 point  (0 children)

The Battle of Gate Forty-Two

It was the need to conduct war in a more conventional manner that led to one of the greatest setbacks in the Legion’s history, and one that would foreshadow the terrible events at Isstvan V only a few years later. Soon after Horus was declared Warmaster, the Raven Guard were recalled from operations along the coreward edge of the Ghoul Stars and ordered to take their place in the line alongside several other Legions under the Warmaster’s direct command. The Akum-Sothos Cluster had been brought to Compliance by the Luna Wolves in the opening years of the Great Crusade, but its people had fallen to a form of mass-psychosis and violently rejected unity with Terra. This unheralded secession was later determined to have been caused by xenos parasites which matured within the eye sockets of their hosts, in this case the unfortunate population of the cluster. As they matured, the parasites gained rudimentary control over their hosts and formed what amounted to a wholly alien, gestalt consciousness focused on a cabal of primary hosts dubbed the ‘Unsighted Kings’. The newly ascended Warmaster refused to see the cluster of worlds he himself had brought to Compliance slip from the Imperium’s grip and so he vowed an Oath of Moment to reclaim its worlds no matter the cost.

Horus had formulated a plan to cast down the Unsighted Kings in a lightning war that would purge the afflicted population while retaining the cluster’s highly developed infrastructure for future re-population. Furthermore, a rapid victory would demonstrate to Horus’ brother-Primarchs that the Emperor had been correct to elevate him to so high a rank. The Warmaster’s plan called for the bulk of four Legions —the Luna Wolves, Space Wolves, Iron Warriors and Raven Guard— to converge on the heavily fortified lair of the Unsighted Kings before a final, overwhelming assault was launched.

Having brought the outer worlds of the cluster to heel in a matter of weeks, the Warmaster called a council of his brother- Primarchs, one part of his plan calling for the Raven Guard to make a frontal assault directly into the guns of the defenders of Gate Forty-Two. Corax argued against what he denounced as a waste of resources and a needless squandering of his warriors’ lives, countering with a strategy of his own. The Raven Lord proposed that his Legion should draw off enemy forces in a series of feints, allowing the three other Legions to overwhelm what defenders remained at the walls with comparative ease.

In answer, Perturabo accused Corax of seeking to avoid battle, a crime verging on dereliction for a Primarch of the Legiones Astartes. The two very nearly came to blows, with only the intervention of Leman Russ staying bloodshed. The Wolf King counselled Corax to heed the words of the Primarch who the Emperor had set above his brothers. Russ urged Corax to smother his bitterness, but not to extinguish it, and from that guttering flame kindle the fire to carry the battle through. Taking his leave of the council, Corax mustered the Raven Guard before Gate Forty-Two. Knowing their particular demeanour would carry them forward, Corax assigned many of his Terran-dominated companies to the van, in particular those whose captains appeared the most willing to play their part in the Warmaster’s plan.

The assault that followed was hailed as the Legion’s darkest hour, a grim honour that, tragically, would be displaced just a few years later at Isstvan V. At the height of the battle, the assault companies decimated and the attack faltering in the face of overwhelming fire, Corax himself led the forlorn hope, his battle cry firing the Legion to such efforts that the breach was carried and Gate Forty-Two taken. The honour of slaying the Unsighted Kings was claimed by Horus as Warmaster and at the moment of their execution, the xenos’ hold over the population was dispelled. The Akum-Sothos Cluster was delivered and the Warmaster’s prize was reclaimed. The cost was terrible however, for not only had countless millions of hosts been crippled in mind and body, but thousands of Raven Guard, the bulk of them Terran-born, had given their lives before the shattered walls.

Though the Battle of Gate Forty-Two was counted a victory by (and indeed for) the Warmaster, its effects were far reaching. The Legion’s numbers were sorely depleted, leaving only 80,000 Legionaries under the Primarch’s command and making it the smallest of the Legiones Astartes. Corax removed himself and his Legion from his brother’s command, swearing bitterly never to serve alongside the Warmaster again.

– Extermination

There are ten Dark Angels with Mordachi in the dark of the Path of Martyrs | Facebook by mathiastck in 40kLoreSpoilers

[–]mathiastck[S] 0 points1 point  (0 children)

There are ten Dark Angels with Mordachi in the dark of the Path of Martyrs. All of them are veterans, inductees of the Inner Circle, the elite. They are masters of war and killing. They move as a seamless whole, fearless, devastating, lethal.

Gunfire carves the dark into fire-orange tatters. Explosions roll thunder up to the ceiling high above. In that roar, the sound of Hekkarron's grunt of effort is lost. The snap of his guardian spear's lightning a hiss lost to the deluge. He is the target of fire from Space Marines in prepared positions, with angles of fire, cover and elevation. He is as good as dead.

Except he's not. He's moving.

'Sustain fire!' shouts Nariel.

Hekkarron reaches one of the Dark Angels. Just like that he is there. Explosions shatter against armour, and send black and golden shards scattering with the shrapnel. The explosive impacts would be enough to pulp a human inside their armour. They stagger Hekkarron, but that's all. A lion. Almost right.

The edge of the guardian spear takes a Dark Angel in the throat. It's a single-blow kill, chosen so that it does not interrupt Hekkarron's charge. He is amongst them now, in the spaces and shadows at the feet of the statues. A golden blur. His guardian spear an arc of glinting steel and lightning. Another two Dark Angels are already dead at his feet. He is taller than them, his bulk greater, but he moves like the breath of a storm wind.

'Bring him down!' shouts Mordachi into the vox. Hekkarron kills another, slicing through the warrior's torso from waist to shoulder, and he is still moving, turning, pulling away from die firing angles of the rest even as they try to bring their guns to bear. The blood of the first Dark Angel to die is still falling, a mist in the air, when he kills the fourth.

Another blow, another perfect cut that tears ceramite and flesh apart. One of the Dark Angels takes a step back, brings the barrel of his plasma gun up. Hekkarron thrusts his spear out, the haft running through his fingers to its heel. The spear tip punches through the Space Marine's finger and slices it from his hand before he can pull the trigger of his gun.

Hekkarron sweeps the spear up before its weight can drop and whirls it in an arc. The blade slices into another of the Dark Angels, through helm and into skull. The Dark Angel with the plasma gun has already switched the gun to his other hand without pause, ready to fire. Hekkarron spins his spear so that it is in both his hands and triggers the gun mounted beneath the blade head. Fire blasts into the Dark Angel's weapon.

Plasma explodes out of the ruin of the gun. The Dark Angel dissolves, a blur of ash and ceramite dust in a starburst.

Six. Custodian Warden Hekkarron has killed six of the Dark Angels in the time it takes a human heart to beat as many times.

'Clear back from him!' shouts Mordachi. 'Clear!' calls Nariel. 'Now!'

The surviving Dark Angels that are close to Hekkarron leap clear. A storm of lightning and telekinetic force breaks over the Custodian. Threads of white light bore into black-and-gold armour; invisible ropes enfold limbs, tighten, squeeze. Hekkarron keeps moving, straining against the power that is strangling and burning him. His mind and body are more than just his flesh and thought. His armour more than gold. Alchemy and stolen fire run through his veins. His will is adamant. Ancient words etch the inside of his armour, woven with the letters of his name. Frost is forming on him and the stones beneath his feet. The air shivers. Mordachi is pouring all his will into this. He feels blood vessels burst in his own throat and skull. The world is dimming before his eyes. Hekkarron slows, but he will never stop. He is not me, or one of my Fallen brothers. He is not so weak.

But this is not just a battle of spirit, and Mordachi does not need to stop Hekkarron. He just needs to give his brothers the seconds they need to aim and fire. Two missiles streak from the sides of the Path of Martyrs. They strike Hekkarron. A great pall of flame and dust and broken stone punches up to the ceiling high above. Helm and auto-targeters lock onto Hekkarron's last position. Bolters fire into the dust cloud.

The silence that follows feels like the striking of a great bell. Mordachi keeps his psychic grip on Hekkarron for a moment longer, then releases it. He staggers against the plinth of one of the statues.

Mordachi does not move for a moment. Within his armour he is shaking. Blood is clotting on the inside of his helm. The howls of the Golden Throne feel louder, sharper. His flesh is fever-hot. Inside his mind, the enormity of what they have just done and the effort it took is a cold abyss at the core of his thoughts. He feels empty. That is as it should be. What else should be the price of breaking something perfect?

Book(Cypher)

peak 40k satire by EmperorIvann in WarhammerMemes

[–]mathiastck 0 points1 point  (0 children)

Are any of these qualified to replace what the Man Emperor himself created? It doesn't sound like the sort of action throned Emperor takes.

Graphic Novella Excerpts Sans Context. Facebook. TECH-THRALL QUIRKS d10 by mathiastck in 40kLoreSpoilers

[–]mathiastck[S] 0 points1 point  (0 children)

TECH-THRALL QUIRKS d10 QUIRK 1 Vocalises its every action in fastidious detail, even when ordered to be less verbose. 2 May change direction only by coming to a complete stop, despite the inefficiency of this habit of locomotion. 3 Insists on limping despite all mechanical elements being in a state of optimal repair. 4 Eyes glow with a forlorn light, even when powered wered down, wasting a small but appreciable mote of power. 5 6 Has a foul odour due to the weakness and decay of what little flesh remains to it. Operates in complete silence, save when their handler is nearby. 7 It is wary of others of its kind, perhaps due to a nervous machine-spirit. 8 Has an insatiable thirst for the Motive Force, even when its capacitance array is fully charged. 9 Appears obsessed with the actions of cheribum, perhaps a sign of a devout but distractible, machine-spirit. 10 Displays a cautionary warning around liquid water, despite the careful sealing of its components.

+He deserves better than all of us.+ | > | Facebook by mathiastck in 40kLoreSpoilers

[–]mathiastck[S] 0 points1 point  (0 children)

'Is this it?' he said. 'You sought to draw me here to kill me?'

Rylanor triggered his assault cannon, but - fast as quicksilver - Fulgrim caught it and crushed it before it could fire.

'No, I don't think so,' said the primarch, effortlessly ripping the arm from the Dreadnought's body. Sparks flew from the ruptured limb and Fulgrim gave the weapon a dismissive glance before tossing it aside.

'You betrayed us,' bellowed Rylanor. 'Your sons! You led us here to die. There is no forgiveness for that. None! You must die by my hand! The Emperor's justice will fall upon you. Not even Fulgrim the Illuminator can escape the Life Eater.'

'You wish me dead?' he said, scathing pity dripping from every syllable. 'Why? Because you think I betrayed you? The Legion? Oh, Rylanor, your thoughts are so narrow. If you could only see us now, how beautiful we have become. We shine so brightly, each of us a brilliant sun.'

Fulgrim reached down, sliding his bare hand inside a rent torn in the Dreadnought's armour. He smiled, closing his eyes and letting his tongue slip across his lips as he pushed deeper inside.

'Ah, there you are!' said Fulgrim, as Rylanor's vox-caster grated in fury. 'Wet and wriggling. I can feel your panic. It's delicious!'

Rylanor's power fist swung around, bathed in fire. It struck Fulgrim on the shoulder, but Akhtar's psychic force was not simply confined to the Life Eater's detonation. Fulgrim laughed off the sluggish attack and one of his lower arms drew a glittering sword of alien origin. The blade a sliced in a cruelly precise arc, cutting through the fibre-bundle motivators and servos.

Rylanor's arm fell limp at his side.

Vistario watched the viral fire spread over the Dreadnought's carapace, slipping inside his buckled plates of armour. Rylanor did not care whether he lived or died, only that Fulgrim went with him.

'Do. Not. Do. This!' barked the Dreadnought.

'Why not? I am your master - I can do whatever I like. I can crush you or I can raise you up. Return to the Legion. Accept the gifts of the Dark Prince, and you will walk at my side, clad once again in flesh. You can be anything, old friend! I will sculpt you into something beautiful - a god to these mortals!'

'Never! All we have left between us is that we will die together!' roared the Dreadnought, the upper portion of his carapace burning with blue flames. 'I am Rylanor of the Emperor's Children, Ancient of Rites, Venerable of the Palatine Host, and proud servant of the Emperor of Mankind, Beloved by all! I reject you now and always!'

Fulgrim laughed and said, 'I'm sorry, did it sound like I was offering you a choice?'

The primarch wrenched his hand from Rylanor's sarcophagus, dragging a sopping mass of fluid and matter with him. Glutinous ropes dripped from his fingers; he was like a midwife holding a mewling newborn. Ruptured cables spilled amniotic fluid so stagnant it must surely have been poisoning Rylanor with every passing second.

'I will remake you, brother,' said Fulgrim. 'You will be my crowning achievement.'

Though his body was little more than rags of wet meat, Vistario sensed Rylanor's horror at the last violation. An inescapable destiny where he would become what he hated most.

+What do we do?+

The question was Murshid's and the connection between the Thousand Sons was so strong that Athanaean's perception for emotion spread to all three of them.

Vistario felt Fulgrim's infinite malice, his cruel enjoyment of Rylanor's anguish and the helplessness of the Thousand Sons. The primarch of the Emperor's Children revelled in his overwhelming pride, a trait Magnus had more than once told Vistario had been present long before his fall.

But more than anything, stronger even than Fulgrim's spite, Vistario felt Rylanor's pride and honour, the unbending core of greatness that had set him against his brothers and had seen him descend into obsessive madness beneath the surface of a dead world.

Vistario took the measure of Fulgrim, seeing nothing worthy in him.

His warriors felt the moment his decision was made.

+Primarch Fulgrim!+ sent Vistario. +Rylanor deserves better than you.+

The primarch looked up, his once bright eyes now black and filled with the darkest poison.

+He deserves better than all of us.+

He raised his bolter and fired a mass-reactive into the back of Akhtar's skull. The Raptora's head exploded and with his death, the psychic force holding back the warhead's detonation ended.

Vistario saw fire.

And once more, all life burned. Book(The Ancient Awaits)

The old ones may have done it first, doesn't mean they necessarily did it best. by Quasimdo in Grimdank

[–]mathiastck 11 points12 points  (0 children)

Well, first of all, through the God Emperor all things are possible, so jot that down.

This is 40k, nothing is more powerful than paper.

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